The Community Testimony: a diatribe

Cheers to Friends Journal!! Friends Journal (FJ) is the magazine for Contemporary Liberal Quakerism—you should buy a subscription to it because the magazine is under financial duress, yet recently the articles have all been excellent (http://www.friendsjournal.org/).

I was in conversation about a possible article that discusses Pendle Hill--as FJ is preparing for an issue that celebrates this hallowed institution of Contemporary Liberal Quakerism (http://pendlehill.org/). Here is a slightly polished version of what I said a possible excerpt of the final submission might be. I thought this blog might be a good place to share what I would have written, and then I'd like to expand on it based on some more recent experiences. The initial excerpt is about my participation in the Young Adult Leadership Development Program at Pendle Hill.

…

When I signed up to participate in the Young Adult Leadership Development (YALD) Program, I wanted an experience with which I could refashion my existence. The program found me at a time when my life had suddenly stopped, yet again. The friends I made at Haverford College, where I received my undergraduate education, had almost all left (being years ahead of me). Two years remained until my own studies would come to a close at Haverford. Thus, I was two years removed from participation in the Young Friends Program of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting. My soul yet remained harangued from the loss of a community as profoundly felt as this one. My sense of self was dispersed into a thousand directions.

When I came to YALD, I was looking to recreate a community that couldn't be recreated. A false endeavor: To replace a group of people who had been as unitary as I felt isolated. My frustration grew consistently larger, as I tried repeatedly (and with a greater sense of urgency each time) to ignore my deep inner loneliness. This loneliness, I am only now realizing, extends through life. The more and more we resist our inner loneliness, the more it grows to consume us: “Jesus said, ‘If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you,’” (Line 70, Gospel of Thomas). For a long time I avoided what was within me—choosing not to allow all my inner beauty to flower how it may—and preferring to manage my existence in fear. Joining the YALD program was yet another manifestation of my desperate efforts to avoid the darkness. Thus it is no surprise that almost immediately after arrival, I became dissatisfied.

“These are not the right people,” I would think to myself. “These people don’t understand me, and I could never connect with them!” And I directed frustrated at Pendle Hill itself—an institution, which seemed to lack, “any substantive sense of community.” We were being asked to model devotional Quaker living, and yet we didn’t even conduct business meeting! Pendle Hill seemed a place where bureaucracy flourished over the life of the Spirit. Such scathing thoughts shown through my actions and my words as I continued in the program, only worsening overtime. They were a product of my unceasing dissatisfaction, which nothing and no one could cure but me. I projected my inner pain onto the Pendle Hill community. Yet rather than reject me or push me out of their dialogue, those whose I attention I could grab listened and they embraced this pain of mine, as I expressed it in the only way I knew.

Looking back onto the YALD program and onto my participation in the Pendle Hill community, I am nostalgic. The community was suffused with inspiration, struggle and depth. Indeed, I was consistently challenged to bring myself forth in the many painful ways I needed in order to discover how I might be saved—and not by anyone other than me (if you listen long enough, you’ll discover His voice right there inside your own heart).

…

This message has sources in previous ways of thinking in which I thought that my constant seeking of community—beautiful and powerful community—was a pathological attempt to recreate what had passed (to bring Young Friends back into my life). Modern society was getting in the way—and thinking emerged such as “buck up, sonny!” Indeed, life is hard, but it is also wasted when not taken to its fullest advantage. Every day offers a chance for more clarity—and this clarity has arrived with a newer interpretation of the same passage from the Gospel of Thomas (see above). This time, I mean to say that no one can live to their fullest power, articulation and beauty without the support of a community just as powerful, clearly formed and beautiful. This is always our first task.

In fact, Young Friends was the closest articulation of the community for which I yearn, for which my whole being yearns. I expect that inside all people, there is a similar yearning reflected by our consistent loneliness. It is that community, whose form is described perfectly by Starhawk. I think I have referenced this quote before, but now I do so with a slightly different intent. She says:

Somewhere there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open and receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free. (Starhawk 1997:92-96)

In the West we are obsessed with freedom as autonomy—as separation and liberation from. But there is another way to think about freedom. Freedom is the deeply felt unity and connection with others who celebrate our beings not as an ethical code, but as an ingrained mode. There is a place, I believe, where the people around us share love, pain, frustration and happiness as gifts and who expect these in return. There is a place where celebration of all beauty is the ground of our ethics. There is a place where Jesus-like people act out of love not because they are supposed to, but because such a way of life is just the way (no more complicated). In other words, somewhere the beloved community does exist. And it can exist here on this Earth in this time, as well. It doesn’t need to be related to Jesus, but it does need to embody his life’s example.

So I ask a simple question. Where do these communities exist in Contemporary Liberal Quakerism? The Young Adult Friends movement in the larger Liberal Quaker community is an effort to bring about the beloved community (even if within one particular demographic location). But when I look around and try to find this quality of community in local meetings or at yearly meetings or at Friends General Conference, I am at a loss.

There is a lot of work to do, but it can’t get done if we don’t have a strong foundation based on the bonds of friendship, spiritual companionship, love, and appreciation. I am not talking Kumbaya-holding-hands-la-la-la. There is a lot of struggle in community too, and conflicts emerge, and pain and loss are cornerstones of experience. Part of the reason why we have built community poorly (because we have as against Starhawk’s criteria) is that we haven’t developed well-oiled mechanisms for managing conflict. This is key for community to flourish.

And above, when I spoke about the priority we have placed on bureaucracy over Spirit, I didn’t mean it quite as black-and-white as it is written. Yet I wonder how it is that most Yearly Meetings can exist without more than a few paid staffers, while another Yearly Meeting (Philadelphia in particular) can support a staff whose budget is larger than that of Friends General Conference (an organization that associates every Liberal Yearly Meeting in the country). I don’t mean to imply that Yearly Meeting staffers, Quarterly coordinators and local meeting secretaries don’t do a good service. We need somebody to push the paper in this age of the nonprofit (perhaps). Yet sometimes the nonprofit-esque institutions into which our Yearly Meetings and inter-Yearly Meeting organizations have turned, forget their purpose.

We flail about trying to discern what to do, whilst not realizing that there has really only ever been one thing to do. The goal, friends, is to bring about the beloved community, to Herald the coming of Christ and the rise of the Kingdom of God, to find in each other what Starhawk enjoins us all to discover. No matter the language we use, I am speaking about the same ‘ole thing. We are working, in whatever are our particular projects, on bringing to this world the peace (in its robust sense) for which all yearn. And there is much to do, but none of it can be done without powerful, well articulated and beautiful community. What does not give life to this project is already dead. What structures that do not bring us closer to Spirit, that do not help us come closer to each other are already dead.

For now,

Zachary

Bibliography

Starhawk. 1997. Dreaming the Dark : Magic, Sex, and Politics. 15th ed. Beacon Press.

Field Notes

It became cold again. I tightly clung to the wonderful reprieve when the temperatures increased. We keep the heat down to save money.

...

The next time I see something beautiful I want to make sure I stop wherever I am to appreciate it.

...

I look forward to when spring comes so I can blow bubbles into the warming wind.

...

The basic-ness of my experience is astounding to me. We are all--everyone of us--the same in regards to the simplicity of experience.

...

Listening to songs and smelling smells and seeing landscapes that remind us of people--what wonderful yearning we can share with each other (the basis of connection, like magnets).

...

Perhaps I will get a dog once I have left Boston.

For Now,

Zachary

The Young Adult Friends Community

All:

For those Quakers reading this blog, something I wrote for the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting's Young Adult Friends blog is linked below:

http://www.pym.org/blogs/sadie-forsythe/reflections-recent-young-adult-friends-retreat-part-1

With Love,
Zachary

The Dark Night

After breaking up with my (now ex-)boyfriend, I have rediscovered what some Christian contemplatives or mystics have called "The Dark Night of the Soul." Dark Night of the Soul is also a poem written by Saint John of the Cross, and it is copied and pasted at the bottom of this entry--also see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Night_of_the_Soul. Essentially, it is about a journey towards God (and I would re-interpret, existential meaning and purpose), which requires a deep appreciation for the moments in which we feel utterly separate from God (or utterly lost).

I am also especially touched by Anais Mitchel's song called "Changer." You can go to iTunes to buy it (and to support her work). In the expanse of time that has opened (now that I am no longer occupied with the care of a romantic relationship in the evenings) I have begun to learn to play this song on the guitar. The lyrics to Mitchel's song are also at the bottom of this entry.

And I have written my own lyrics to a new song, although these are not included in this post. The song is based on Anais Mitchel's "Changer." Ask me to sing my new song for you some time. It will help me.

Generally speaking, breakups are hard. But I did not expect this one to be as hard as it has been. Of course, I hoped it would not ever end at all--so silly of us to hope this about many things (but in other ways it is just as wise, as silly).

The strangeness of my experience is most striking. I am existing in a new city, my early-youth has escaped me and now I face, finally, the promises of incomes and stability (at some point near). These elements of my new reality are coupled with the wreckage of an ended relationship, which I had hoped (blatantly prematurely and naively) would be one of the last romantic relationships I would ever have (that this one might be "the one"). I am a traditionalist in this way--waiting certainly not for someone to come along to complete me, but waiting indeed for long-term companionship, marriage, two children and a dog. The confluence of my newly clarified "adult-ness" and a burgeoning romance set me (rather unexpectedly) towards this line of expectation and thinking.

So with the end of this relationship in particular, the brokenness extends beyond just my feelings. My sense of direction and stability has been thwarted, like a boat whose anchor has snapped and whose sails face the wind in the wrong direction. I am adrift, in one sense.

I know that in other senses I am doing JUST FINE! For, I am set for at least another year in terms of essentials (money, food, housing, clothes). I have a loving and supportive family, and a developing network of friends in Boston. I am engaged in meaningful (if occasionally frustratingly boring) studies. These things seem, however, puny in the expanse of the loneliness, the expanse of this dark night and the accompanying sadness when it closes around me (as it sometimes does).

Yet a part of me, too, rejoices in my grief--the hardship that I face proves that I am without a doubt ALIVE. It brings also into focus the many gifts and the many blessings available to us in even the simplest of experiences. Recently I laughed at the simplicity of an old woman taking her time down the sidewalk of Harvard Square--as busy, worried, and incorrigibly tunneled students pushed past her (frustrated faces). She was humming, no less, and clearly oblivious or serenely apathetic to the surrounding hurriedness.

Also I am deeply appreciative of exactly how beautiful the break-up itself was. For even though he no longer loved me, he cared deeply for me. This is the true nature of human experience, and it is the source and picture of peace. We imagine that somehow peace or nonviolence means Kumbaya-nothing-bad's-gonna-happen. When in fact it is more akin to an approach to suffering, rather than to an end to suffering.

He and I: In the face of our sure, impending brokenness we sat and cried--loving each other still, despite the changes that were to come and the loneliness and grief we both were to feel. Sometimes the best thing to do is to admit that an end has come--that relationship is impossible. We can still in good faith walk away, wishing the best for each other, in the certainty that we will find what we need in other places.

Here's to the learning that is to come, and to the introspection that has been prompted.

For Now,
Zachary

Dark Night of the Soul

Upon a darkened night
the flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest

Shrouded by the night
and by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the dead

Oh night thou was my guide
oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the other

Upon that misty night
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
than that which burned so deeply in my heart

That fire t'was led me on
and shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
it was a place where no one else could come

Within my pounding heart
which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave
And by the fortress walls
the wind would brush his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow

I lost myself to him
and laid my face upon my lovers breast
And care and grief grew dim
as in the mornings mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
--http://www.xs4all.nl/~josvg/cits/lm/lorecd53.html

Lyrics to "Changer," by Anais Mitchel

if I can't keep it
at least let me call it by name
that was called falling
this is called pain
it's called love, what I'm losing
I know love is a stranger
I know that changes come
I know love is a changer

I'm gonna go quietly
you don't have to tell me to
just let me lie a little longer next to you
I'm not trying to bother you
I'm just trying to breathe you in
and then I will leave you there
where you are sleeping

but speaking of loving you, I do
I'm telling you stranger to stranger
whatever changes come to you
I'm telling you changer to changer

morning has stolen your shadow from me
but I hold its shape in my mind
it's the shape of your back when you turned it on me
one last time

out in the waking world
nobody understands
exactly how light it is
exactly how free I am
one minute I'm laughing
and the next one I'm lost
I'm watching the birds fly by
I'm watching the highways cross
speaking of loving you, I do
I'm telling you stranger to stranger
whatever changes come to you
I'm telling you changer to changer

if I can't keep it, at least let me call it by name

--http://www.anaismitchell.com/jukebox.html

And a friend just sent me the following link, which I think goes well with this post:

http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/Blessing-for-Divorce-Meg-Riley-02-11-2011.html?sms_ss=facebook&at_xt=4d562646322d972d,0

Also this is another pertinent poem:

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

the beauty and the awake

The many wishes and woes I'll never know, because I've got all my needs met on many levels... this leads me to believe that I am indeed pushing my luck when I wish that I could have an apartment that's more clean, a lover who is kind and attentive, a residence in a place slightly less messily cold. I've got friends, a nice job, a beautiful family, and I am in a position to do a great deal of good before I die.

I wrote in my journal this:

"I realize what I could not before comprehend. The nature of this question: What will you have wanted to accomplish upon your death? And now I see how the only thing possible is to have shown kindness and charity, to have shared deep love (not just this silly romantic kind) with even one other person, to have lived completely by beauty alone, and to have realized my true nature."

Indeed I want to have given my full being and my full presence to each and every nugget of experience. Then at least I will be able to say that my life has been full--and this is much more than enough.

Recently I find myself noticing the simplicity of deep beauty—sublime beauty. It is somehow underneath and encapsulating (simultaneously) existence. One who knows what I mean by sublime beauty also knows that what one experiences with one’s senses is much fuller than the images and feelings evoked by the senses alone. One can merely give examples to connote this reality—to point to it, rather than articulate it explicitly. I have come to believe that God resides in these mysterious, irresistibly gray areas of life.

And they are not happy-Kumbaya all of them—many of them are terribly horrifying and yet nonetheless sublimely beautiful.

One must know this beauty in oneself and in others first, before even considering taking any steps at all.

I strive to be this awake.

Here is a poem by Pablo Neruda:

Keeping Quiet
By Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.

Life is what it is about...

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.


Extravagaria : A Bilingual Edition
by Pablo Neruda (Author), Alastair Reid (Translator)
Noonday Press; Bilingual edition (January 2001)
ISBN: 0374512388
page 26

For now,

Zachary

related to the last post

Two stories:

I was sitting on the T (Boston's subway) on my way into the city.

I will never get over the view of the skyline. On the way into the city, the T (the red line) passes over the Charles River, which is flanked by Boston's biggest buildings. In the day, I look forward to the feathery winter light against the river, its frozen surface. In the night, the lighted windows of the shining John Hancock Tower flickers against the iced-over water. And all the other buildings clustered together (whose names escape me) make a beautiful subway ride!

That was a digression.

As I sat I began to look around at all the people. I began to notice the small things about everyone--so unique and surprising each one of them! Every person had their own mannerisms, ways of standing and sitting, their own cadence. I began to think that I might even predict some of each person's life story just by how one of them dressed, carried herself, etc. I don't mean stereotypes--judging who people are. I mean mundane things that are not in themselves important or interesting, but fascinating when understood as indicators of actual people's lives. A few people stood talking softly to each other, but it was clear that they were enthusiastic about their trip. Dressed nicely, they were likely off to a party or a show. They would occasionally laugh quietly together, clearly sharing enjoyment in each other's presence. And as I could sense their shared love, it then struck me how beautiful and interesting they were--and everyone else on the subway!

I suddenly felt the desire to meet all the people with me riding in this subway car. I felt an inner urge just to start talking to the nearest person, and then to mingle as if we all were at a party. I then kept myself from doing this, knowing it would likely freak out anyone I talked to (or would it?).

But this led me to another realization. Our separateness is an illusion. We had all boarded this ride, and we were together for some momentary miles. Our body language was closed and distanced--we avoided talking to each other, we avoided sitting too closely, and we even avoided looking at each other sometimes. We conceived of ourselves as individuals and strangers. You might say: but if I don't know anyone on the train, then why would I want to talk? ...and admittedly some people are harder to speak with than others. But it seemed in that moment that the basic premise upon which we operated in this little subway car was totally socially constructed. This illusion of separateness is likely necessary for proper functioning in the world, but I could think of other social constructions that would be more fun and still functional. Like what if we approached each other always with openness and interest? What if this were the posture and the premise upon which society were constructed instead of the closed and distanced one we have now?

...

Similarly, I was walking back to my apartment after a semi-disastrous afternoon. I was therefore walking quickly down the street--I felt a need to get back to my apartment as soon as possible so I could relax, collect myself and get past this crappy day. As I walked I encountered a couple--they were blocking the whole of the sidewalk so I couldn't pass them. They were walking very slowly, very very slowly. At first I became frustrated, but then I took the situation as a sign from the universe to slow down--a message I've been getting from many different directions recently. I slowed down, but in my anxiety about having to wait even longer before getting inside my warm apartment I began to consider the couple before me. One of them was carrying what seemed a very heavy suitcase. I suddenly had the urge to help him! But I knew that if I just approached him and grabbed his suitcase he would likely try to hit me with it rather than let me carry it for him. So I just continued to walk slowly until we parted ways (as it were).

When I slowed myself down enough I was able to be present to the actual situation--these people who might need help with a suitcase. I stepped out of myself and out of my own "crappy day" into what semblance of their day that I could gather. It was a wonderful feeling to want to help someone else, and a little frustrating that it might not always be possible to follow through on that desire.

We are separate only by choice it seems.

Do the Friend Dance

This post is about connection.

Firstly, if you are reading this post and it is not yet January 22, 2010 (this coming Saturday) then you should attend a connection-themed party that a friend of mine is hosting. If you'd like to go, contact me on Facebook for time/location so I can make sure you are not a psycho killer.

A few nights ago an old friend from College visited me. We spent the evening parading across each other’s immense pasts, with haphazard enjoyment. After seven months of absence, four hours over dinner, wine, etc. couldn't come close to a comprehensive retelling. So we wandered like two wobbly old friends through ideas, history--sharing in a powerful companionship I hope lasts for the rest of my life.

Today I ran into a woman who spoke angrily of many things (I won't mention the circumstance/context to keep her identity anonymous). I was taken aback when I first encountered her abrupt need to talk about past pain and to propose (at times contradictorily) radical solutions to those things she projected were the cause of her pain. Thankfully she and I were both attending a larger event, so I could quickly mingle away from her. I thought to myself: "why of all people, do I always get stuck with these ones." Then after a few minutes reflection, I returned to her (who we will call Linda).

I felt some nudging, or some inner-need (despite an intellectual rejection) to come back to Linda. I told her that I could, actually, resonate with what she was saying. I listened to her more. It came out indeed that she was lonely--she had no family. She expressed to me the conundrum she faced at the age of sixty--whether to go on living. Excluding the question of suicide, I admit that there comes a point in life when continuing to live requires the will to do it (and I don't doubt that some people for example die simply of heartbreak--people who have lost the will to live). She also expressed that this thing about which she had spoken so vehemently to me (and to anyone else who would listen) was the one thing keeping her going. She was writing a book that talked all about it.

This book seemed one of her last meaningful connections to the human world.

My old friend from college and I decided that connection means simply being with another, mutually. It doesn't mean becoming the same as someone, and it doesn't even mean necessarily developing common ground. It simply means being present: to listen, to support and to be vulnerable enough to receive listening and support in return.

When considering the question of connection deeply I also came to understand it as the basis of purpose. I am conditioned to believe that my vocation is what will provide me with a sense of purpose--whether I become a teacher, a researcher, a singer, a conflict res expert, a therapist, an elder in the contemporary liberal Quaker tradition, etc. But what are these things I just listed? They are, most importantly, socially constituted. And the reason why they would offer me a sense of purpose is not the thing itself (the job/the vocation)--what gives me meaning and purpose is this job in its social context. Everything that I do is made possible by people in a community: the people who I affect, the skills I have acquired to affect these people, and the sense of success met (through challenge) in doing whatever it is with and for people. I am connected in a web of relationships to people and actually to all beings. To lack these relationships is not only to lack connection; it is to lack a sense of place, position, or anchoring in existence. My career means nothing without other people to make it relevant and at the same time to witness it.

We could also add to the list non-vocational positions like lover, father, wife, child, sister, friend, etc.--these are also roles we play that offer a sense of direction and purpose. They come with certain identities--someone who "is" a father has "father" in his conception of self for the rest of his life. Similarly, a doctor and/or singer has these roles permanently imprinted onto her self-conception (her identity). These positions (all of them mentioned) center on connection--the fact of shared experience and witness to an otherwise meaningless universe.

Who shall witness my life and by that fact give it purpose? I hope my perennial friendships (the good solid ones), my eventual husband, my Quaker community, and my eventual coworkers and clients will all witness my life to make it whole and meaningful. I hope that I may return this witness to each of them. So connection is a sharing of support, which I earlier posited. It is also the sharing of meaning and meaning-making, in which one acknowledges that she is not the same as anyone else and she thus cannot solve anyone else's problems. Yet she can support and witness and thus make easier others' pain and make happier and more pleasant others' joy, as they say. Connection is both mutual witness and mutual support, from which meaning and purpose are derived. This is what allows me to say: no matter what happens, I will have you. It is what allows coaches, presidents and priests alike to say: no matter what happens, we will have each other.

I am hard-pressed to find anything more basic to life than connection. Can you?

In conclusion I would like to share some quotes and links:

A poem whose author I cannot find (help on this would be welcome):

Dear friends, dear souls
dear ones, be bold

it's time to forget
all the lies
we've been told

let them drop
let them fall
let go of them all

they're poison
they're dust
and they're not even us

we're much more beautiful
than we've formerly been told.

Some beautiful pros about community (the kind I really want!):

"Somewhere there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open & receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.” - Starhawk

And a link about finding the space of connectivity of which we all are aware (even if we don't know it):

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html

For now,

Zachary